Why Can't We Be Friends?
by ERclaireER
Summary: " ... no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive ... -Harry Burns. Is he right? What does this mean for our favorite crime-solving duo?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hi all. Thanks for reading chapter one of my newest fic, Why Can't We Be Friends? While not my first fic, this is my first venture into Bones fanfiction and my first attempt at writing in Brennan's POV and I really do hope I do her justice. This first chapter is meant to be introductory, but the remainder of the fic deals with a concept that came to me after watching When Harry Met Sally, one of my all time favorite films. The central focus will be around the question: Can men and women ever really be friends?. I'll also be throwing some other When Harry Met Sally references in here and there, so if you haven't watched it, I really do recommend you do so as the fic progresses.

**Disclaimer:** This story is totally, 100% the product of my own imagination. Bones and related subjects are not mine, nor is When Harry Met Sally. No copyright infringement intended. A special thanks to **LittleThingsMatter** for giving this fic a read-over and helping me come up with the title, which, again, isn't my property. Any factual information used has been cited at the end of the chapter.

Now that the Hodgins-Montenegro baby announcement had been made public knowledge, the entire Jeffersonian team, as Booth had described them, seemed to be "glowing." I tried to explain to him that people, unless by some odd chance they were coated with bioluminescent bacteria or phosphorescent materials could not glow, but he wouldn't budge. Apparently to glow is a positive thing; some sort of emanation of happiness and joy that is usually apparent in pregnant women. I guess, following his logic, this glow was contagious.

I'll admit that the mood in the lab was lighter as of late, but I hadn't given it much thought provided the new set of remains arranged on the platform to be identified. The remains were those of an adolescent male, the bone structure suggesting Asian descent. Tissue markers had been applied and the skull sent to Angela for reconstruction. The other bones were being carefully examined for cause of death, but until we had an ID, the case was at a standstill. Booth was eager to go out into the field and do some actual investigation and, until we did, he was positively childish, making constructive work nearly impossible. I decided to check up on Angela's progress, partially to get our case back on track, but mostly to avoid Booth's seemingly endless list of conjectures, none of which were based on any actual evidence.

Upon entry to her office, I was greeted by not one but three "glowing" women. The finished sketch sat on her desk, but instead of returning it to the platform upon completion, she sat in her office, chatting animatedly with Daisy and Hannah. I found myself to be irrationally bothered by Hannah's increased presence in my lab. I attributed her easy access to be a perk of her sexual relationship with Booth, but I found it unacceptable nonetheless. I know the likelihood of her compromising evidence was slim, but these cases were FBI matter. Should any information fall into the wrong hands, especially those of a journalist, top secret FBI business could be leaked and the Jeffersonian could find itself under scrutiny for its, namely Hodgins', experimental techniques. But right now there was no discussion of the case at hand. Instead, they appeared to be throwing out suggestions for a baby shower.

"Geez, Bren, I'm sorry." Angela said, looking up from the notepad on which she was brainstorming. "Sketch is all set. Booth can go ahead and run it through the Missing Persons Database."

While it would give Booth something to do, usually Angela took care of all the database work with her extensive computer software. Cam was the authority figure here, as she often reminded me, yet she was not around to do the proper delegating. It was then up to me.

"In ancient Egyptian and Greek cultures, what we call baby showers were held after the birth of the baby, sometimes ranging from ten to forty days later to allow for the purification of mother and child…" I explained to the group of women before me. "Right now this case takes precedence. Ange, I need you to get me that ID. Miss Wick, please assist Mr. Nigel-Murray and I with the cause of death determination. Hodgins has taken the tissue samples he needs and the rest of the fleshy remains are being tested by Dr. Saroyan. And Hannah?" I didn't really know what to say to Hannah. There were no tasks for me to delegate, and as much as I wanted to tell her to go home, I knew Booth would tell me that such a statement is not socially graceful.

"I just dropped in to say hello on my way back from an interview. I didn't realize you had such a pressing case in progress," she said by way of apology as she stood to leave. She looked to the other women in the room. "I'll take care of things on my end and I'll get back to you," she told them, making her exit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Bones Theme and Opening Credits XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"All of our cases are pressing, Angela. Murder is a particularly pressing issue. Much more pressing than," I picked up the list she'd been making, "pin the sperm on the egg?"

She looked up from the database and laughed. "Come on, I thought it was cute. Hannah mentioned playing it at a friend's shower. Plus, Hodgins wasn't big on the idea of a co-ed shower, but I think this might bring him around."

"Angela, the human egg cell is .1mm in diameter. Sure, it's bigger than the sperm cell, a 5 by 3 micrometer head with a tail 41 micrometers long, but even an accomplished artist such as yourself would find it difficult to make an accurate depiction worthy of use for an adaptation on a strange, yet popular childhood party game."

"It's that or Spin the Baby Bottle," she laughed, handing me the list of possible matches on our victim. I started out the door to my lab when she called after me. "Shower's on Sunday, I expect you to be there!"

"You two attending Angela's party?" Sweets asked at the opening of our mandatory session the following day.

"Hannah's in charge of the cake," Booth explained. "Last night she was on the phone with at least a dozen bakeries in the DC area alone. Whatever she's got planned, it's bound to be good. If anything, I'm going so I can see the masterpiece that's been in the works," he told Sweets. "Not to mention they _are_ our friends," he added, clearly directing that last statement toward me. Before I could defend myself, Sweets chimed in. This is what I dislike about our sessions with Sweets. When Booth and I argue, it's not so much arguing as it is conversation, trying to figure things out about the other without directly asking. When I do ask directly, Booth tends to shut up fast. But here in Sweets' office, everything is blown out of proportion, plus, we have a kid taking sides.

"Agent Booth is right, Dr. Brennan," he said, causing Booth to sport a smug grin. "The modern baby shower as we know it came about after World War II, during the Baby Boom era. They evolved with the consumer ideologies of the 50s and 60s. While they served an economic function, the gifts associated with pregnancy and child-rearing served to introduce the woman into motherhood, and to construct the identity of the fetus as a social being."

"Meaning?" Booth asked, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.

"Meaning, as Angela's best friend, Dr. Brennan should be present to encourage this transition and welcome the fetus into her carefully guarded image of society, to give her stamp of approval and acceptance if you will. Angela is sentimental. She has invited us to take part in a very special time in her life, to share in her joy. How can a person turn that down?"

I suppose, although I don't care much for psychology, that I can follow his logic, but not before making my final argument. "At least _I _went to the Founding Father's when Hodgins and Angela made the official announcement," I said, sending a sharp glance at Booth, "Instead, Booth chose to have sexual intercourse with his girlfriend. They had invited us to share in their joy. How can a person turn that down?"

No comment.

**References:**

.com/2008/11/01_

..gov/books/NBK26842/

.org/wiki/Spermatozoon


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks for being so patient. I'm not the fastest updater. I write out my chapters by hand first, and then type them up, which is time consuming, yet works best for me. Here's chapter 2, the Baby Shower. Sorry by the way that the references didn't work at the end of last chapter. If you're really curious as to where I got my information, or find my information to be incorrect, leave it in a review.**

**Disclaimer: This story is mine. That's all. The Pictionary scene is from the movie, Pictionary belongs to its creators, and Bones, you know the drill.**

I eventually agreed, for Angela's sake, that I would attend her shower, on the condition that I could first tie up a few loose ends on our latest case. In speaking with the gentleman who had filed the missing person's report, our victim, 18 year old Kevin Gardner, lived in a group home for mentally unstable adolescents. Mr. Gardner had been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder shortly after the loss of his parents and sister in an arson-related house fire. He was known to exhibit four distinct personalities, all with their own names, interests, and backgrounds. Two of the four were said to have raging tempers and were prone to violence. The head of the home speculated that one of his personalities had perhaps provoked someone to the point of a struggle, Kevin himself being a very kind, gentle man, or that he had simply "tried to make it all go away."

As I sat at the platform, examining the bones for any self-inflicted wounds that could be indicative of suicidal ideation, I cogitated on the idea of multiple personalities. Don't we all exhibit them? Generally speaking, don't we behave differently at work than we do in the comfort of our own homes? We come across differently when speaking with strangers than we do in our own social circles. We might use formalities or omit intimate details, but we are not less ourselves for doing so, especially since we are the ones dictating these behaviors. It's a method of self protection. Protection of one's own species is instinctive, not something that I would personally categorize as a mental disorder. Take Booth for example.

Booth has a big heart. Anatomically speaking, his heart is no bigger than yours or mine, unless of course he had cardiomegaly, which is unlikely considering he doesn't fit the general demographic. Anyway, I would characterize Booth as the provider, the people pleaser. He's painfully loyal, which, in terms of our friendship, can be both endearing and extremely irritating. He tries his best to lighten the mood, even when he has no clue what we're talking about, usually leading to his own embarrassment, which he doesn't take well. Out in the field, pursuing suspects, all of those qualities still exist, yet they're masked by duty. While I myself am immune to it, I would imagine that Booth comes across as an intimidating man, especially when holding a gun to your head or interrogating you with those angry eyes and loud voice. Different personality displays, yet, same Booth.

While my subconscious ranting did steal some of my focus away from the remains, I was able to identify some perimortem injuries, ones that we had pegged as defensive wounds, that could very well have been self-inflicted, especially those on the wrists and forearms, but also very possibly the bruising identified on the skull. As I was recording these findings, my cell phone rang.

"Temperance Brennan."

"Bones," Booth said in a hushed voice. "where are you? You're late and Angela's going to be pissed if you blow this off. You made a promise…"

"Restrain your horses, Booth; I'm leaving the Jeffersonian now." Booth laughed and I hung up before he could say anything further.

She must have seen me pull into the extensive driveway of the Hodgins' mansion because she was there to greet me at the door. Given the urgency of Booth's call, I expected her to be angry, yet she welcomed me with a warm smile and a hug. It was the glow again. Apparently, not only was it contagious, but it made one less prone to anger.

"If you really didn't want to play Pin the Sperm on the Egg, you could have just said so," she laughed, leading me into the parlor where the other guests had assembled. Sometimes I was bothered by how well she knew me, despite my excellent ability to compartmentalize. While new information on the case was the primary reason for my tardiness, I'd be lying if I said I had been looking at all forward to submitting myself to a child-like state, being blindfolded, spun, and aimlessly fumbling to place a tag-board sperm cutout onto the corresponding tag-board egg whilst trying to regain my equilibrium. What's the point?

I surveyed the group. Not a huge gathering. Just the Jeffersonian team, Booth, Hannah, Sweets, and two unfamiliar couples whom I assumed were neighbors. I chose a seat next to Booth who was indulging in a piece of cake, presumably the cake that Hannah had gone to great lengths to provide.

"You've gotta try this, Bones," he said with his mouth full. "It's heavenly. It's like…sex on a plate."

"I'm sure your dessert is delicious, but I wanted to update you on the case. It appears that—"

Booth cut me off with a wave of his fork. "I don't want to hear, Bones. I'll give you two excellent reasons why. Reason number one, I'm eating. Spare me the gruesome details while I'm digesting. And if, for some reason, you happen to know when I'm done digesting, don't tell me here. That's reason number two. We're at a party, Bones, a party! Nobody wants to hear that, except maybe Clark over there who looks like he's having about as much fun as…something that doesn't have a lot of fun…"

"That was a poorly executed simile, Booth. You're going to have to work on that." I told him.

Hodgins cleared his throat to catch everyone's attention, but the chatter continued. He cleared his throat again. No response. That's when Angela stood up and whistled through her fingers and the group instantly quieted. "I've got it from here," she assured him. She stood in front of a large white board that Hodgins had wheeled in from the other room. "Now that everyone has arrived," she said, flashing a smile in my direction, "we can move on to our next game. I know we've had to reject a few games already due to the heavy squint bias, but this one gives no unfair advantage. Baby Pictionary. It's simple. Baby related phrases are listed on note cards. Draw out the phrase for your team to guess."

We were then split into two teams, the couples being divided up between them. My team consisted of Daisy, Booth, Hodgins, Vincent, the woman from the first unknown couple, and the gentleman from the second. A coin toss determined that Angela's team would start. She had said that there was no unfair advantage, but there clearly was when she was drawing.

After a few rounds, it had come to be Daisy's turn to draw for our team. She picked up her card and smiled broadly, almost knowingly. She held up two fingers, indicating a two word phrase. Picking up a marker, she drew a circle, giving it what appeared to be eyes and a mouth, plus a little sprig of hair. I tilted my head to the side, looking at it from a different angle. Despite her knowledge of anatomy, her proportions were all wrong and it certainly did not resemble anything I had ever seen.

Hodgins got excited, spouting out possible answers. "It's a monkey, it's a monkey…Monkey see Monkey Do…It's an Ape! Going Ape!"

Unknown woman number one chimed in next. "It's a baby!" Daisy nodded enthusiastically, writing the word above the image.

"Planet of the Apes!" Hodgins exclaimed, trying to hold in a fit of laughter. Booth shook his head in apparent annoyance.

"Planet of the Apes? She just said it was a baby. How 'bout planet of the dopes?"

"Well it doesn't look like a baby…"

Next, Daisy drew what looked to me like a pair of wax lips. I was growing all the more confused, not only by the drawing, but by the flow of conversation. This was Baby Pictionary. One would think that after a few rounds, my team would have picked up on the concept.

"It's got a big mouth. Mick Jagger is a baby?" Vincent suggested. He was undoubtedly about to spout off some facts about this Mick Jagger, but was interrupted.

"Baby Ape! Baby Ape!" Hodgins yelled.

"Stop with the apes, would ya?" Booth growled.

The banter went back and forth for awhile and I still hadn't the slightest clue. Guests from both teams were laughing hysterically now, but I clearly was not catching on.

Hodgins stood as though having an epiphany. "Baby fish mouth! Baby fish mouth!" The room went silent in disbelief. I thought maybe he'd guessed it, but this was not a phrase I was familiar with and Daisy continued to draw. Dozens of arrows came from the lips.

Growing frustrated, I said, "Draw something resembling anything!" Again the room went silent. Glances were exchanged and I began to feel uncomfortable. Had I broken a rule?

"Baby talk…" Daisy sighed in resignation.

"Baby talk?" Hodgins asked, seemingly incredulous. "What's that? That's not a saying…"

"Oh, but baby fish mouth is sweeping the nation?" Booth countered. With that, the room erupted into applause, only adding to my confusion. I was fairly sure we had just lost, yet we were celebrating? Angela walked over and slung an arm around my shoulders.

"Chill out, Bren. It was a joke. We were playing out a scene from a movie," she laughed. "When Harry met Sally?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what that means."

"No? Girl, you don't know what you've been missing! That's it. You're staying here tonight and we're totally watching it. Just you and me, some good old fashioned girl time. That can be your gift to me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thanks for your patience, everybody. This chapter, so far, was one of the toughest to work out. After several revisions, I'm pretty pleased with it. Let me know if it was worth all the work.

**Disclaimer:** This story belongs to me and my muses. Please do not reproduce or take it as your own work. That's plagarism. Bones and When Harry met Sally aren't mine. Speaking of the film, any italics you see throughout the chapter are direct quotes. If you don't want to be spoiled, watch the movie first. I didn't include the ending to the movie, so at least in that regard, you're safe to read.

And that's how I ended up on Angela's couch, wearing a pair of her pajamas, sipping wine, and eating a leftover piece of "sex cake." I had to admit that it was delicious, but I don't like my sex they way I like my cake. This cake was not uninhibited in the least, so I think Booth's classification was a bit biased.

As for the movie, it had only just begun but, I was pretty confident I knew how it was going to play out. I am, after all, a critically acclaimed author. I know plot lines. Sally had just pulled up in front of the University of Chicago where Harry and his current love interest are saying their goodbyes. Harry and Sally will be driving to New York together. Two strangers, driving long distance, isn't it obvious? They're going to fall in love. They may bicker and disagree, but they'll fall in love. It's inevitable I decided, though, not to tell Angela that I'd figured it out. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and it _was_ my gift to her. This gift may not serve the purpose that Sweets had described, but Angela and I had a social contract that I was going to honor.

As I predicted, the two did bicker. They argued about great sex, about their prospective dark sides, about Casablanca, but then they came upon an argument that I honestly had not foreseen nor ever before considered.

"_You realize of course that we can never be friends," _Harry says when Sally rejected a potential come-on of his and suggested friendship as a safe alternative.

"_Why not?"_

"_What I'm saying—and this is not a come-on in any way, shape, or form—is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."_

I'd never thought about it that way before. Is he right? I have male friends, and so did Sally.

"_That's not true. I have a number of male friends and there is no sex involved," _Sally argues.

"_No you don't."_

"_Yes I do."_

"_No you don't."_

"_Yes I do."_

"_You only think you do," _Harry counters.

Booth is my friend, isn't he? It's said that he's good in bed, but I have no direct knowledge of that fact. I don't think that gets in the way any.

"_You say I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge?" _Sally questions, clearly skeptical.

"_No, what I'm saying is they all want to have sex with you."_

Well, he had a bit of a point there. Booth thinks several men ogle at me for that very reason. And why shouldn't they? I'm at the top of my field, I've written several books, and I'm practically a celebrity. And though I don't like to reflect back on that night, Booth wanted to give _us_ a change. Romantic courtships, especially those lasting thirty, forty, or fifty years, inevitably would involve sexual intercourse. But he never said he wanted sex. Booth doesn't like to discuss his sex life with me; it makes him uncomfortable. Besides, he has Hannah now. He's having sex with her and I'd like to think that we're still friends.

"_How do you know?" _Sally asks.

"_Because no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her."_

"_So you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?" _she attempts to clarify.

Refer back to the aforementioned ogling. It is difficult for me to believe that I am unattractive. I know that I am attractive and I know Booth recognizes this as well.

"_No, you pretty much want to nail them too." _Harry said, crushing that theory.

"_What if they don't want to have sex with you?"_

"_Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there, so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story."_

"Do you think that's true, Ange?" I asked, reaching for the remote control and temporarily pausing the movie. She turned to look at me, seemingly surprised that I had even been paying attention. She gave me a knowing smile.

"You're questioning your relationship with Booth!" she said excitedly, pointing a finger in accusation.

"No, I'm not," I said sternly, "I'm questioning whether men and women can be friends."

"Come on, Bren, how many male friends do you have?" I thought about this and found the first flaw in the argument. What is their definition of friendship? This is infringing on Sweets' territory, but Aristotle said there are three types of friendships, so some specification is clearly needed to make a solid argument.

The first type is based on utility. It changes with the circumstances and one generally hopes to gain advantages from it. This seems to be the friendship Sally has in mind. Harry was the only person she'd know in New York and it would be advantageous for her to have at least one friend, one familiar face.

The second type of friendship is that based on pleasure, where one's main interest lies in their own happiness. Perhaps this is Harry's view. He is almost suggesting that men have this interest, but that seems evident even without any sort of established relationship. And it's not just men. Satisfaction of biological urges is an interest of members of either gender.

The third type deals with mutual goodness. People befriend those with whom they share a sort of goodness. This one is the most obscure to me. Their goodness? Moral goodness? Good intentions? Good at what they do? I find this quite unclear, yet more satisfying than the other two proposed types.

I asked Angela which she thought was right.

"I think this Aristotle guy was on to something. To me, it's not even about the types so much as it is that there are types. There are these different types because people and friendships are so unique. I'm willing to bet there are more than three, too. Friendship takes on a different meaning for everyone."

I nodded, taking what she said into consideration. It was not a committed answer and, therefore, not all that satisfying to me. I figured a more specific question would get me the answers I seek. "What is _our_ type?" I asked.

"You're asking me why we're friends? Sounds like someone's fishing for compliments."

"I don't know what that means, but yes, that is what I'm asking."

"Alright, way to put me on the spot, Bren. But then again, I think that's kind of our thing. Honest, sometimes brutal, communication. We tell each other the truth, even when it's the last thing the other want s to hear. We're two opinionated women, and, if nothing else, it makes things very interesting," she laughed. "At the end of the day, you teach me and I teach you." she said, tears beginning to spring to her eyes. "This is going to sound super sappy, but so much of who I am now is because of your influence. Without you, I'd be a starving artist somewhere. I wouldn't be helping you and Booth solve murders. I wouldn't have gotten to know the irritating yet loveable Jack Hodgins nor bringing into this world this perfect little testament to our love."

I was genuinely touched by her words, but I was unaware of the proper response. I set my wine glass on the coffee table and pulled my friend into an awkward hug. "If I could reciprocate the sentiment as eloquently as you have, I would." I told her, and she laughed.

"You don't have to say anything," she told me. "You do so in your own little squinty ways. I know how hard it is for you to say what's in your heart, but one of these days, you'll get there. I've still got a lot to teach you."

"Back to the movie?" I suggested, growing uncomfortable with the amount of emotional sentiment in the room.

"Start her up."

Despite my plot knowledge, I paid more attention this time. I still had a lot of questions. The film could hardly be considered educational, but it was a fascinating display of human interaction.

Several years later, Harry and Sally cross paths in an airport and end up sitting side-by-side on the plane. We learn that both are involved with other people and that Harry is engaged to be married. I observed their behavior on the flight, and they seemed friendly enough to me. Maybe Harry's perspectives have shifted with age? Perhaps his relationship with Helen has changed him, just like Booth and Angela continually attempt to do for me. And, I suppose it's working some. I'm certainly not the exact same Temperance Brennan I was six years ago.

When their flight lands, Harry suggests that the two share a meal, something that Sally considers a friend gesture.

_I thought you didn't believe men and women could be friends? _she recalls.

_No,no,no,no, I never said that…Yes, that's right they can't be friends. Unless both of them are involved with other people, then they can. This is an amendment to the earlier rule. If the two people are in relationships, the pressure of possible involvement is lifted. That doesn't work either, because what happens then is, the person you're involved with can't understand why you need to be friends with the person you're just friends with. Like it means something is missing from the relationship and why do you have to go outside to get it? And when you say 'No,no,no,no it's not true, nothing is missing from the relationship,' the person you're involved with then accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you're just friends with, which you probably are. I mean, come on, who the hell are we kidding, let's face it. Which brings us back to the earlier rule before the amendment, which is men and women cannot be friends._

My head was spinning, metaphorically of course. How does he come up with these things? No hesitation whatsoever. It's as if there's some sort of rule book that he's memorized to the very last word. Damn you, fictional Harry, you've rendered me confused. Maybe every time Booth has to clarify to people that we're just partners, it's because that's all we really are. Maybe that metaphorical line that we can't cross is friendship. Maybe I couldn't reciprocate Booth's declaration in front of the Hoover that night, but that doesn't mean he isn't important to me. I am uncomfortable not knowing my place. As Angela told me, I still have a lot to be taught.

This time Angela paused the movie.

"Stop thinking so hard. I'll pour you another glass of wine and I want you to relax. The funniest moments are yet to come."

Trying not to think takes quite the effort, but I was growing tired now, so I submitted myself to the wine and cheesy jokes for the remainder of the evening.

**Author's Note:** So, what did you think? Reviews are always appreciated. Next chapter, Booth and Brennan discuss friendship


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** When I said last chapter was tough, I was wrong. This one was tougher. I wasn't sure if I was going to make this a case-fic, but the idea came to me and I ran with it, hence the length of this chapter. I know I said Brennan would be confronting Booth in this chapter, but I hope you can wait through one more. There were some things I needed to establish first. I'm interested to see what you think. Thanks, by the way, for the reviews. It was refreshing to find more than one (you know who you are, wink wink)

**Disclaimer: **The only thing that belongs to me is this story and any non-Bones characters. Do not reproduce under any circumstances.

"_I've been doing a lot of thinking, and the thing is, I love you."_ Harry proclaims.

"_What?"_

"_I love you."_

"_How do you expect me to respond to this?"_

"That's such a you question, Brennan," Angela laughed

"I don't know what that means."

"Exactly."

"_How about you love me too?"_

"_How about I'm leaving."_

The whole situation eerily mirrored Booth's gamble in front of the Hoover. It was heart-crushing, absolutely heart-crushing. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't one of my biggest regrets, clearly hurting Booth they way he'd promised he'd never hurt me. I'm so afraid of the people I love leaving me, and I only do the same. My breath hitched, but I wasn't going to let myself cry now. If I started, so would Angela, and the emotional outpouring would be too much to handle.

"_I love that you get cold when it's seventy one degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get that little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you're the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."_

Angela looked over at me, trying to gauge my reaction. At this point in the film, this is the mentality I've witnessed. For men and women anyway, there are only three options. It's either friends, which Harry deems impossible despite their obvious development of a friendship, lovers, a line they crossed in a moment of emotional upheaval and later regretted (I'll be discussing more on "the line" later on), or nothing, nothing at all. No in-between.

"Don't you think you're being a bit pessimistic?" Angela asked me as I relayed this information to her.

"I'm simply summarizing the message of this movie, pessimistic though it may be. To be honest, I'm surprised you and all of the rest of your guests even enjoy it. Sure it had its comedic moments and sexual tension, but I find that unless you're part of the lover demographic, the movie is a metaphorical slap in the face. An 'I told you so' if you will."

Angela rubbed her temples, trying to find the correct response. "You've completely missed the point. Completely. It's not all or nothing, hun. Sure, love and friendship aren't easy endeavors, maybe you picked up on that, but if you look at their journey, you know it was worth all of that turbulence. It's what strengthens their relationship. It's what made that friends-to-lovers transition possible. And by the time they took that next step, there was nothing to fear. They had fun. They knew each other inside and out." She yawned. "Just sleep on it, And I mean it, sleep. You don't have to have the world figured out tonight. And though it's about time you figure out your relationship with Agent Studley, that doesn't have to be done tonight either."

I nodded, yawning myself. We brought our dishes into the kitchen and went our separate ways, me occupying the guest bedroom. I closed my eyes, willing the thoughts to stop and sleep to come over me.

I slept in later than I intended, but was awoken by the ringing of my cell phone on the bedside table. I knew who was on the line and picked up without speaking.

"Wakey, wakey, Bones. We've got a case. Well, it's the same case, but that doesn't matter. We have a lead on a potential suspect. Started talking about the whole Gardner thing during their group therapy session. Didn't make any admissions, the therapist stopped them before she could say anything more. We gotta see what she knows."

"The 'whole Gardner thing?'" I asked, groggy.

"Yes Bones. Just get on home, get ready, and I'll come pick you up on my way."

I obliged, getting out of bed and put on yesterday's attire. I drove home, having just enough time to shower and dress before Booth arrived. I hadn't even begun to dry my hair and resorted to ushering Booth into my apartment with my hair wrapped in a towel.

"Mornin' Bones," he said, snickering at my towel turban. "Hey, no rush," he said as I pulled off the offending towel to reveal my wet, mussed locks. He followed me to the bathroom, standing in the doorway as I begun to run a comb through my hair. "You take care of that, and I'll debrief you. Our talker is Melinda Reid, 19 years of age, started at the home about a year before Kevin. Apparently the two were good buddies."

I stopped my grooming momentarily. "What brought Ms. Reid to the home?"

Booth shrugged. "They don't just offer that stuff up over the phone, Bones. Ever heard of HIPPO Regulations?"

"I think you mean HIPPA."

"Right, that's what I said. Anyway, can't access that without a warrant. That's why we're heading over there to interrogate the kid. And you, you can do your squint stuff. We do have a warrant to search Gardner's room following the self-harm evidence."

I nodded, turning on the blow-dryer before he could say any more.

The ride to the home was relatively quiet. I did have an agenda of items to discuss, but I figured it'd be better left unsaid until after the visit so to keep us both focused and objective.

"I can hear the wheels turning. What are you thinking, Bones?"

I rolled my eyes. "There isn't enough room in my cranial cavity for anything but my brain, Booth, but you're right, I do find myself deep in thought. I was thinking about Mr. Gardner and his friend. Whatever was going on in the days, weeks, months before his death, the two must have had enough trust in each other to confide in the other. Based on the evidence, I don't think we're going to like what she has to say…"

Booth smirked, a strange reaction to the potential for unsettling news.

"Temperance Brennan, going with her gut," he proclaimed.

"Am not!" I argued. "I am going with the evidence"

"The evidence has led you to have this gut reaction, Bones. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"I'll bet your fried at the diner you can't tell me what mutually exclusive means."

"You can't bet with something that's mine!" he laughed. "You're the worst gambler. No to mention, I'm the degenerate. You shouldn't be encouraging me."

When we arrived at the home, we quickly switched into professional mode, another indication of our multiple personality capabilities. The head therapist, Gene Alderman, brought us to the office where Melinda was already waiting for us. Before letting us in, Dr. Alderman spoke to us in hushed tones. He told us that Melinda was manic depressive and had been having a manic episode this morning.

"Ms. Reid has agreed to take her medication, so she should be fully cooperative. I'll be in the next room if you need me to intervene."

Booth and I looked at each other, a little leery, but then proceeded inside. Booth settled into the doctor's large arm chair and I stood beside the desk. He flashed his badge. "Melinda, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth and this here is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan. Dr. Alderman told us that you agreed to share some information about your friend Kevin."

She nodded, her head heavy. Whatever medication she was on was causing a sedative effect, probably result of too strong a dosage for the girl's small frame.

"Kevin was my best friend," she said, void of any emotion, though we were lucky that she was lucid enough to say anything at all.

"We understand that Kevin had Dissociative Identity Disorder, multiple personalities. Did he ever discuss that with you? Did he say what that was like?"

"Kevin didn't like to talk about that," Melinda told us. "I think he was embarrassed. But if you really wanted to know how he was feeling, you waited for Seth."

Booth and I scanned over the list of patients, but there was no mention of any Seth. "Is Seth a friend of Kevin's?" Booth asked. "Maybe we should be talking to this Seth guy."

Melinda shook her head. "Seth was one of Kevin's personalities. I always imagined Seth to be what Kevin was like as a kid. He was funny, very inquisitive, and there was no filter. Whatever he thought, he said out loud. Whatever he felt, he expressed."

"Did Kev—uh, Seth ever talk to you about ending his own life? Did he indicate if he was in any danger?"

Melinda thought for a moment and it seemed to take a lot of energy out of her. "He said he hated living this way, described himself like Jekyll and Hyde. But he said it was his cross to bear; it was his punishment."

"His punishment? What did he do?"

" That was the one thing he never spoke of. It was too distressing. When I asked, he'd only get angry. But then again, Seth never stuck around for very long. He was only an indicator that Dan or Jeff was coming, and then you didn't ask questions."

I could tell Booth wanted more from her, but as her eyelids grew heavy and began to droop, I knew it was time to take a break. I closed the file he had opened in front of him and grabbed it off the desk, forcing him to have to follow me out if he wanted it back.

"What the hell, Bones?" he said once in the hallway. "I let you sit in on these interrogations, but you don't get to call the shots."

"The medication was taking effect, Booth. She wouldn't have been able to tell you anything more. Not to mention, we don't need her to fill in the blanks. I know what he did. According to the information I received upon IDing the victim, Mr. Gardner developed his DID after an arson related fire killed his family. That leaves us with two possible scenarios. A) Kevin survived the fire and felt guilty, or B) Kevin was part of the group who started the fire," I told him, proud of myself for using deductive reasoning without science.

"Sorry to rain on your parade, but it was B. I read up on the old case file. He spent two weeks in a juvenile detention facility before the disorder manifested and he was sent here. I needed to know if Melinda knew so I could see just how open he was with her. But clearly he didn't say. Or at least Seth didn't. But Dan and Jeff?"

"The other two personalities," I told him. "They weren't on the list either. There are four distinct personalities, three, plus Kevin. In addition to Seth, there were two aggressive personalities, ones more prone to anger and violence."

Booth sighed. "Well this was a waste of time. We didn't get anything we didn't already know. Why'd they have to choose today to drug her?"

"You heard the doctor, Booth. She's manic depressive. She could have been a danger to herself or others."

"At least when she was manic she had something to say; something worthy of our personal invite over here."

That's when I reminded Booth that we still had the chance to search Kevin's room.

"Kind of a mess," I noted with distaste as Booth unlocked the door and let us inside.

"What'd you expect, Bones? A teenage boy with conflicting personalities lived here."

I pulled on a pair of gloves and sifted through the boy's belongings. I went through the items systematically, starting with the laundry. A few of his shirts contained blood stains and those were placed into evidence bags for examination back at the Jeffersonian. Next, I looked under the bed. Nothing there but a pair of old tennis shoes. I was going to leave them, but Booth suggested that Hodgins check the treads for particulates and soil samples that could place him at the scene in the days prior to the alleged murder.

"Help me out, Booth. Where might a teenage boy hide a diary?"

"Boys _don't_ keep diaries, Bones," he scoffed defensively.

"If you're claiming that dairies are gender stereotypes associated only with women, you're incorrect. It's an anthropological fact of human nature that a culture tries to document important events and catalog feelings. Besides, I'm sure keeping some sort of journal was a recommended part of his therapy."

"Do you keep a diary, Bones?" he asked with a smirk.

"Do you?" I deflected, going back to my search. I looked underneath the pillow, between the bed frame and the mattress, but came up empty. Pulling on his own pair of gloves, Booth pried open the air conditioning vent. He did so with ease, suggesting that the vent had been opened on more than one occasion. With a winning smile, he held up the marble notebook containing the innermost thoughts and feelings of Mr. Kevin Gardner.

"You did keep a diary!" I accused, pointing a finger at him.

We stopped at the diner for a bite to eat before returning to the lab. I brought the diary with me, carefully leafing through it as we waited for our food. Melinda hadn't been lying when she said that the two were best friends. Kevin wrote of her often. He wished he could be honest with her. He wished she didn't have to see the torment he went through. He wished she didn't care so much for him and that he didn't return those feelings.

"Any juicy gossip there, Bones?" Booth asked, reaching out to take a look for himself. But I closed the book, stuffing it back into my bag. "What'd he say?" His intrigued look was replaced with concern.

"Do you think it's possible for men and women to be friends?" I asked him, bracing myself for what could be one of the most difficult conversations I'd ever initiate.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks for your patience everybody. I rewrote this chapter a few times before I could get something I was happy with. It might be a little out of character and I know it's short compared to the last chapter, but I think you'll enjoy it all the same. Just consider this The Confrontation part one.

**Disclaimer: **I own this story and nothing else. No copyright infringement intended. Last but not least, don't steal.

"Do you think it's possible for men and women to be friends?"

The question was met with a calculating gaze, Booth fidgeting with his tie.

"Thank you, Angela…" he muttered under his breath. "Why'd you make her watch that movie?"

I looked at him, waiting for his response. Should I be unsettled that he can't give an immediate answer? One would think he would know.

"Of course. We're friends, Bones," he said finally.

"Okay, but why?"

"Why are we friends?" he asked for clarification sake. "Does there have to be a reason?"

"Yes. There usually is. Harry Burns says we can't be, so, if we are, there has to be a good reason."

Booth looked down at his plate, then back up at me, pushing his meal aside.

"You're putting me on the spot here," he said.

"It shouldn't be that hard, Booth. Just tell me why you're friends with me," I persisted. "Is it because you have something to gain? Is it for your own pleasure? Do we share Aristotle's idea of mutual goodness?"

Booth sighed. "Listen, I don't understand all that, but I don't think like you do anyway. Way simpler. Some people are friends because they share a common interest. You like Foreigner, I like Foreigner—Friends. You like French fries, I like French fries—Friends. You solve murders, I catch bad guys—Friends."

"You're friends with me because I like French fries?" I asked, my brow furrowed, confused.

"No!" he stressed. "Well, yes, but that's not exactly our defining trait. We're also friends because we enjoy each other's company. We do a lot together, like this, or drinks and takeout."

"We don't do that as much anymore," I reminded him, and he averted his eyes. "Does that mean we're not friends anymore?"

"Even friends have their rough patches, Bones. There's no perfect relationship…"

"Even you and Hannah?" I asked, but he didn't respond.

I thought about this. If there is no such thing as a perfect relationship, why does anyone bother? What are they all looking for and how do they know when they've found it? It made me think of what I'd just read in Kevin's journal. He'd found what he'd been looking for and look at the pain it caused him. Somehow, he recognized that it'd never be perfect and he felt as though it was his fault.

It was quiet for awhile and it clearly made Booth uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, continuing to play with his tie. "I guess what I should have said was, it's not _always_ perfect. But other times—"

"There's no such thing as perfect anyway," I said, dismissing him. I don't know why I said it, but it was out there now.

"I don't know what you want to hear. You asked and I answered." Booth said, frustrated now. "And don't tell me there's no such thing as perfection, Bones, because you try so exhaustingly hard to attain it, in yourself and in your work. So hard that the fundamentals, like social graces, friendships, and what makes them work, are mere blips on your radar. You said it yourself. You're the scientist. You can't change."

I recoiled, as if he had slapped me in the face, and I tried my hardest not to actually strike him. "Don't you dare turn that around on me, Booth!" I snarled, leaning in closer. "You want me to change so badly? Funny, it's the first time you've ever asked. I came to you about this friendship thing because I knew I could count on you for the truth, not so you could, metaphorically speaking, lay all of my weaknesses out on the table. I asked you because I recognize that there might be things that you know that I just don't. Don't let it get to your head. You want me to change, so make me understand!"

"You want the truth? Harry Burns is a fictional man. Fiction! The crap that comes out of his mouth is just that, crap. I never thought of you as the gullible type, Bones. Men and women **can** be friends. Yes, sometimes the love part gets changes the dynamic, but sometimes it doesn't."

He quieted then, and I knew he was talking about us now.

"Real friends know each other better than they know themselves, whether they realize it or not. They're around when you need them, and even when you don't, when you'd rather not have anything to do with them. They're the little voice in your head telling you not to do the stupid thing you're about to do, and most of the time you actually listen…"

"You're hearing voices…" I said, concerned, thinking back to when he conversed with Stewie in the interrogation room.

"Bones," he whined. "You know that's not what I mean. Just let me finish." I didn't know what he meant, but I allowed him to continue anyway.

"Friends also argue with each other. Over big things, but sometimes over nothing. Sometimes they pick silly fights just to get the other riled up. Sometimes it's actually fun. That's the important thing. They have fun together. They laugh often and have fun without even trying. They share in each other's joys and misfortunes. Other times, you can't imagine how they're feeling. Friendship involves some acting too. Sometimes you fake it. Sometimes you use little white lies to spare feelings and show support. That's supposed to be a secret act, but I'll let you in on that one for future reference. No one said it was easy, but once you find all of that in another person, you just know."

I didn't know what to say or how to feel. I was overwhelmed, not only with the amount of information I'd been provided, but with the string of truth I knew was attached to every word. Booth has told me he loved me, more than once, but, until now, he couldn't even tell me why. I believe he just did that now.

I stood to leave, doing what I do best. I needed some time to myself now. Booth had driven us here, but I could just as well walk back to the Jeffersonian. Maybe, if I could just put this case to rest, I'd find some clarity, some peace of mind. Booth stood to stop me, but I shook my head. I plucked the diary from my bag and placed it on the table along with a few dollars for my share of the meal.

"I haven't gotten all the way through it, but take a look, see if you can find anything useful. Then hand it off to Sweets," I instructed before stalking to the door and heading in the direction of the lab, leaving Booth standing at the table, alone and very much perplexed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your patience. School got in the way of a lot of things, especially my writing. Anyway, I'm kind of regretting making this into a case fic. It has kind of taken on a life of its own, but I'm hoping to get in back on track. Feedback on this aspect, or any aspect for that matter, would be appreciated

**Disclaimer:** Bones and all affiliated material belong to its respective owners. References made to episodes: "The Man in the Cell," "Fire in the Ice," and "Devil in the Details." This story belongs to me. Its use outside of this sharing venue will not be tolerated.

Life is one large contradiction. _Entropy is a natural force that pulls everything together at a subatomic level._ Yet, there are some things that just never change. _Two plus two equals four. I put sugar in my coffee and it tastes sweet. The sun comes up because the world turns. _And, yet again, Temperance Brennan runs away. Well, I was walking at a brisk pace, but that is a technicality I choose to ignore for the sake of this argument.

Sure, I could turn around and go back. He surely wouldn't be expecting that, but I need time, and so does he. I'm not trying to punish him, though every time he seems to think the contrary, but there is a fundamental issue that he continually glosses over, one that he needs to understand. He set himself up and he still misses it. He told me just now that I'm a perfectionist, and it's true. When I do something, I do it right. I make decisions with my brain and not my gut. I utilize evidence and avoid conjecture. I don't agree with all rules and social norms, but when I can see and understand their benefits, I follow them. There are a lot of rules that Booth has laid out in our partnership that I've come to overlook in the interest of scientific discovery, and I know it irritates him. But there is one rule that I've followed so diligently, so obediently, yet his own logic escapes him and he seems to be irritated then too.

Friends share in each other's joys and misfortunes, he told me. It may not have come naturally, but I've done that. I share in his misfortunes every time a case gets personal. When Howard Epps poisoned his then-girlfriend Cam with methyl bromide and plaster dust, I saw him hurting. When Epps went after Parker, though thwarted by our crime solving prowess, I saw the anger. And that's when he said it,

_You know what happened to Cam happened because we had a personal relationship._

_Had? _I'd asked him, confused.

_Yeah, people in high risk situations, they can't be involved romantically because it leads to things like what happened._

_High risk situations?_

_Every single day it's with us, there's this line and we can't cross it, you know what I'm saying?_

I don't believe in Booth's invisible deity, but an imaginary line? Consistency, Brennan? I've let my lack of emotional know-how and a stupid line dictate everything. Sure, there's a difference between the relationship I have with Booth and the one he had with Cam. I might even argue that our partnership is even more high risk. Cam conducts her work in the lab, very rarely is she at a crime scene, and she's never actively pursuing a criminal. While it may appear as though I were jealous and am now asserting my dominance, I am simply pointing out that my partnership with Booth requires a more…ubiquitous role, which increases the risk and allows for a valid reason to obey the rule.

But, as with many rules, this rule in particular is restricting. It is restrictive of action, but, more importantly, it is self restricting. I am, for the most part, very comfortable with myself. I am the scientist. I like to be in control. I like to analyze and explore; to ask questions. There's one question, though, that I've never thought to ask. Where's that line now? Have we crossed it? Once you've crossed it, is it too late?

That last question haunted me for the rest of the day, especially after what I'd read in Kevin's journal and what Booth had told me about friendship. Once Melinda and Kevin developed feelings for one another, was it too late? Well, clearly it was, considering the young man has since died, but this wasn't an ordinary death. If this was a suicide, as the evidence increasingly suggests, was it love that killed him?

And that's when it hit me. Yes, love **had** killed him. Allow me to clarify. Love is not a murderer. Love is a chemical response, a feeling, perhaps even a gut reaction. It was love personified. Angela tells me that people in love do crazy things. They splurge on things that they can't afford. They manipulate their bodies with tattoos or cosmetic surgery. Mr. Nigel Murrary has relayed an anecdote about a mother's love for her child initiating a fight or flight response so great that she was able to partially lift a vehicle to save her trapped son.

There are also the acts of love that originate from clear delusions of grandeur. Marrying a dying man in the hopes that his newfound happiness will prolong his life. Staying in an abusive relationship because the night after he beats you, he showers you with attention, tells you he loves you and will never do it again. Stalking, viewing every reciprocated glance or greeting as a sure sign that that person pines for you with the intensity with which you pine for them. Assisting a young man in killing himself, or at least some of his selves, to make the suffering end.

The following day I had Hodgins re-examine the particulates gathered from the wounds and the young man's clothing, looking for anything that could tie Melinda to the crime; a strand of her hair, blood, anything we might have previously overlooked. I had Angela change the parameters on her simulation to account for the same injuries given an assisted suicide. I was just about to gather the interns for a thorough bone examination when Booth swiped his ID card and bound onto the platform.

"Put down the bone, we're going on a field trip."

I looked up. "Did you and Sweets find something in the diary?"

"Journal, Bones. Journal. And yes, we found something alright. We'll fill you in on the way, time is of the essence."

"According to the journal, Kevin met Melinda his first day there, in the infirmary." Sweets explained from the back seat. "Upon intake into the home, each teen is given a full physical workup, explaining his presence there. He writes that the girl in the next bed was miserable, fighting anyone who tried to lay a hand on her. Her forearms were wrapped in gauze. In a later group session, she'd admitted to cutting, trying to end her own life. She tried, unsuccessfully, at least two more times, but it would appear that, as her friendship with Kevin blossomed, she seemed to clean up her act. It was upon Kevin's insistence that she go back on her meds."

"That mustn't have lasted long," I figured aloud. "Dr. Alderman said that she'd agreed to take them when we last spoke to her, indicating that it was not her own choice. She must have gone off again, which could be behind any recent outbursts or misbehavior."

"If you look at the more recent entries, it would appear that way, yes. Kevin verbalizes his concerns that if she 'gets better' she'd leave and he'd be alone. He was bothered by the fact that she could get things under control, yet he continued to struggle with the guilt and his associated condition. They argued about it, but Melinda was ultimately persuaded to suffer alongside him and stopped her meds. After that, things just got weird."

"Weird is a very non-descript term, Dr. Sweets. Please elaborate." I insisted as Booth pulled into the parking lot of the home.

"I have to make it quick. If they know we're here, they'll collaborate on a story. Less prep time, the better. Melinda confesses her affection for Kevin and agrees to 'help him out'. She said she'd do anything for him. And in this case, anything included instructing him on the act of suicide. She knew he wanted out, and he knew she knew how. If she truly loved him, she'd let him go. She 'helped' him the night he died."

"Considering the man is dead, we have no way of knowing this." I pointed out.

"She had the balls to make a closing remark in the kid's journal," Booth told me.

"Melinda doesn't have—"

"I know Bones, I know. Let's just get in there, okay."

As Sweets had hoped, Melinda was unmedicated when we were finally able to sit down with her. In the time that we spent waiting, I was able to search her room for evidence, anything that could link her to the park where Kevin was found as well as anything that could provide a DNA source for the database. I had them rushed to the Jeffersonian by a kind orderly.

Dr. Alderman was present for the interrogation, given his legal guardianship over Melinda while she was under his care and supervision. Sweets didn't like the idea, citing that there would be bias in Melinda's answers given that she would say things that he'd want to hear. Booth allowed it, almost insisted upon it, which led me to believe that he knew something that I did not. Aside from professional discussion, we'd been avoiding each other whenever possible, so I was unaware of his additional knowledge, likely a gut thing.

As Booth and Sweets conducted the interrogation, I watched Melinda intently. She was more alert now and, by the look of her set jaw and clenched fists, I figured she was ready to get defensive. They first asked Dr. Alderman about his therapeutic techniques. They discussed the journal therapy at length, questioning its objectives and relative success. This I found to be rather boring and was relieved when my phone rang. Booth glared at me, not happy that their questioning had been interrupted, but I took the call out in the hallway.

"DNA evidence confirms Melinda's involvement and the story fits with all but one of the sustained injuries. We've also found DNA that doesn't belong to Melinda or our victim, but, if I had to guess, it belongs to the deliverer of the unaccounted for head contusions." Hodgins told me.

I pulled Booth from the makeshift interrogation room. "Not again, Bones. She's fine. Just let us get this done."

"Evidence confirms it. Melinda helped Kevin commit suicide. But evidence also suggests a second party."

"One step ahead of you, Bones" he grinned.

Back inside, Sweets had set the journal on the table, open to that final entry.

"Ms Reid, do you recognize the handwriting on this page?" he asked her. She looked up at Dr. Alderman, then back down at the journal, nodding. "Yes."

"Can you tell me who it belongs to?" he pressed, but this time Melinda did not answer. "I'm going to ask you to read the entry aloud if you would please."

I did not understand the purpose of this. He knew what it said. I though, did not. I watched and waited. She hesitated but obliged.

"I. Love. You. Alone, three simple words. Strung together, they have unmatched power. The power to heal, the power to bring out of the dark, the power to manipulate, the power and promise to please, no matter what the cost. With power comes responsibility. Today I take responsibility. My love alone could not heal, could not save, but I made my promise and could not, would not, rescind, not after seeing the plea in his eyes. I brought him to his favorite place then, seated by his side, I brought him home."


	7. Chapter 7 Part 1

**Author's Note: **Not a full chapter, but I didn't want you guys to forget about me, or to think that I forgot about you. This is part one of a two part chapter, I've decided. Let me know what you think, please. Chapter six got a whopping ZERO reviews and that makes me sad.

**Disclaimer:** Story is mine. Bones and affiliated characters are not.

Tears fell down Melinda's cheeks. I expected Booth to place her under arrest right then, but he turned to Dr. Alderman next.

"Dr. Alderman, where were you during the group session when Melinda allegedly began discussing what sounded like details of Kevin's final moments?"

The doctor sat a bit straighter in his chair. "I do not conduct the group therapy sessions, Agent Booth. For any information regarding the alleged event, you'd be better off speaking with my colleague, Dr. Cooper. I was in my office on the phone, speaking with relatives of Mr. Gardner."

"I see," Booth said curtly. "At what point did you intervene?"

"Dr. Cooper paged me when things got out of hand. Melinda was screaming and crying and needed to be removed from the group environment. I took her to my office and that was when Dr. Cooper phoned you."

"At that time you drugged her, is that correct?"

Dr. Alderman was taken aback. "You make me sound so sinister, Agent Booth. Ms. Reid was having a manic episode. I gave her the necessary medication to relieve her of her current distress."

"My partner here would argue that you were unsuccessful," Booth countered, glancing over at me. Sweets handed me her chart and I quickly noticed that there was no notation of a drug administration that afternoon.

"I see that, when Ms. Reid is compliant with her drug treatment, she is given 750 mgs of Divalproex Sodium tablets. When Agent Booth and I first spoke to Melinda, she was clearly experiencing a sedative effect. She was extremely lethargic and it took a great deal of effort to get our questions answered. These side effects are more commonly noted in higher dosages of the medication, dosages higher than her chart reports her having received in the past. How much did you give her, Dr. Alderman?"

"I think I'd better wait for my lawyer."

A few nights later, after the interrogations had wrapped up and the investigation was closed, I was with Booth at the Founding Fathers for our post-case celebration, not feeling particularly celebratory. Not only was the death ultimately a suicide, an evil that Booth and I cannot rid the world of, but Dr. Alderman had gotten involved and tried to cover the whole thing up with drugs and secrets.

According to final reports, Kevin, in an attempt to gain some sort of closure, told the doctor of his plans to end his life. When he'd tried to dissuade him, Kevin got angry and their discussion had become instead a physical confrontation. The blow to the head, Alderman claims, was accidental, purely in self-defense. Alderman did not have a history of violence with his patients, which was, I'll admit, reassuring. Still, the fact that a medical professional, or any rational human being for that matter, would cover up a death, accidental or otherwise, angered me greatly. While there was a court case pending to determine whether Melinda could be held legally responsible for her actions given her mental condition, Dr. Alderman would be paying time for his actions.

I couldn't stop thinking about Melinda's journal entry. "…I made my promise and could not rescind…" Love is a contract, a promise, a responsibility, and the more I thought about it in those terms, the more uncomfortable I became. I don't want to be someone's responsibility, somebody's burden. I don't want to be the voice in Booth's head when he's about to do something stupid. I don't know if I believe in fate or free will, but I want him to have it.

"Take it back," I told him. We hadn't spoken much since I ran from the diner, and Booth looked both startled and confused.

"Take what back, Bones?"

"You've always said that you'd kill for me, that you would die for me. Take it back. Booth," I pleaded, unwanted moisture springing to my eyes.

"I can't take it back, Bones. It's the truth. It's already out there."

"Please, Booth…" And that's when I crumbled. I placed my head in my hands and cried. As I anticipated he might, he placed his hand on my back, rubbing gently.

"Come on, let's get you home."

When he stopped in front of my building, he didn't turn off the car, he didn't make to get out. He looked apprehensive, as if any action at all would result in another emotional outburst from his usually collected and reserved partner. "Do you want me to walk you up?" he asked.

"No, Booth, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, Bones, I know," he said, but still he got out of the SUV and accompanied me up to my apartment. He stood beside me as I unlocked the door.

"Okay, here we are. I've safely made it home," I told him, hinting at the fact that he could and probably should now leave.

"You are so damned confusing, Bones! I really don't get you. You watch one silly movie with Ange and you ask me to explain what friendship is. I tell you the deep down honest truth and you can't handle it. You spout off some nonsense about taking back my promises and force me to sit there and watch you cry. Now you won't let me do anything to fix it? I'm coming inside and we're talking this out, because I don't know how much more of this I can take."

I didn't respond, but I let him follow me inside. I slumped down onto the couch, crossing my arms in front of my chest and waited for the inevitable Booth lecture to begin. When he didn't speak, but instead stared at me expectantly, I let out an audible sigh. I felt like I was in Sweets' office and my own living room.

"Don't make me guess, Bones. I'm not good at reading your mind without translation or subtitles."

"I don't want to need you Booth. And I don't want you to need me. I don't want you to kill for me and I don't want you to die for me. It's unhealthy. It's unrealistic. It's a crime."

"Is that what this is about? Kevin and Melinda? We're not like them, Bones, I promise," he said, sitting down beside me. "We're not like them, we're not like Angela and Hodgins, and we're not like Harry and Sally either. It's just you and me. Booth and Brennan. And I know you don't need me Bones. You're the smartest, most capable woman I know. You don't need to need anybody, but you deserve to love and be loved." He put an arm around my shoulders, but I pushed him away.

"It's you who is the confusing one!" I said. "How can you say all of these things, Booth, when it's Hannah that you love? If not her, then Catherine or Cam, or Tessa, or Rebecca. You've been sending me mixed signals since the day I met you. No wonder I don't know what love or friendship is, because you've never been able to set the right example. If you know me, if you really know me, you know I need consistency, something to rely on, someone that won't leave. You may have always been here physically, but because you can't assert yourself with reasonable argument or make up your damned mind, you've come and gone all this time. You even invented that stupid line that we couldn't cross so that you could come and go as you pleased. You tricked me. You used my own rationality against me and I resent you for that!"


	8. Chapter 7 Part 2

**Author's Note:** This won't make any sense if you haven't read the previous chapter. Go back and do that now if need be. Secondly, I know this is short, but I purposefully divided chapter 7 into two parts so it wouldn't be too long. It looks a lot longer in my notebook than it does here.

**Disclaimer**: As usual, Bones and related characters and plots are not mine. This story, however, is. Don't take it from me or I will be very sad.

"That is complete bullshit and you know it!" he argued back, his hands balled into fists. "First off, don't you dare blame me for your lack of social know-how. It's not my _job_ to set a good example for you. I'm not some experiment for you to learn from. And don't you go reading into my motives either. That's what we have Sweets for. For someone who puts such little stock in psychology, you're really starting to sound like the guy. I can say these things because I care about you, because you are my friend. Friendship and love aren't mutually exclusive—and yes I know what that means. You can love a lot of people in this world. Don't blame me for 'coming and going' when you've been the one encouraging me to do it. You made it clear that you weren't interested. You were all about satisfying biological urges. You know how sick it makes me when you make comments about men's hips and thighs being 'perfectly developed for strength and maneuverability?" he shuddered. "You met guys online—"

"One guy. That was one time," I interjected.

"…you strung along three guys at once if I can properly recall. You had Sully and Hacker, but you weren't looking for the one. And if you were, you really weren't doing that great a job. You even got yourself involved with a guy who killed his own brother! As for my own relationships, you only encouraged them. You were the one who wanted to discuss my love life all of the time. And I don't think I have to remind you that _you_ rejected _me_. I told you I had to move on, and you never stopped me. I drew that line and you said that you understood. So this is not on me."

Considering he wasn't one to talk about his own love life, it surprised me that he seemed to remember almost every one of my past relationships. I thought it made him uncomfortable and that he probably blocked it out. But now wasn't the time to be moved by his memory. I was angry and I wasn't going to be the one to back down. Booth clearly had the same idea and we sat in searing silence.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. His gaze was set on the black screen of the television, his jaw set with the occasional angry twitch. His hands, no longer in fists, twitched atop his legs, as if he were contemplating some action but trying with all his might to restrain himself. He caught my eye, and all restraint was out the window. He stood up in an instant, grabbing me by the arm and forcing me up with him. I tried to pull away but his grip was strong. I laughed spitefully.

"Wrong move, Booth."

No one lays a hand on Temperance Brennan and gets away unscathed. He of all people should know that. I swung at him with my free arm, but he was quick, grabbing that one too and squaring me forward so that we were eye to eye. It was his turn to laugh.

"You really thought you were going to fight me, Bones? Aside from the fact that you could never beat me, this is a new low for you." He tightened his grip. "I've got something to say. I'm going to say it, let you go, and walk out of here without another word. Then I'm leaving it to you. It's your move. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome, but I think the more I tell you, maybe, one time, it'll finally get through. Bones, it's you that I lo—"

I couldn't listen to him with his hands bruising my arms as they were. Okay, I could listen; my arms had no effect on my hearing, but I couldn't take anything the man said seriously when he was behaving like a bully. That might work on criminals, but not on me. In one swift motion, I kneed him in the groin, all the while looking him straight in the eye. If there was one way to get through to Seely Booth, it was by insulting his manhood. I just took the more literal approach. I was instantly released as he moved to shield himself from another blow, lowing himself to the ground as he hissed in pain.

"What the hell, Bones!" he squeaked. "You don't knee a man in the balls as he's about to tell you he loves you. As a matter of fact, you don't knee a man in the balls ever, okay?"

I stood over him, laughing, but this time not of malicious intent, but out of the sheer humor of the situation.

"This is not going as I anticipated," he sighed.

"When does it ever? We're not exactly normal," I smiled.

"Speak for yourself," he said, grabbing my ankle, gently this time, and pulling me down so I landed on the floor with a soft thud. And there we were, lying side by side on the floor of my living room, staring up at the ceiling as if it contained all of the answers we sought.

"I suppose you're right though, about us not being normal," he said. "If we were, this would be a lot easier."

"How do you figure?" I asked.

"For one, I wouldn't have gotten you drunk to fire you after our first case, especially since you squints essentially saved my ass in the end."

I nodded. "Maybe if I were normal, I wouldn't have left that night alone in that cab."

"But then we wouldn't be where we are now," Booth pointed out.

"On the floor?"

"No, well that too, but we've got something special going on. An abnormal, frustrating something, but special no less."

"So I'm not supposed to understand it?" I glanced at him.

"No, I guess you're not," he smiled, turning his head to look at me. "We figure it out together."

**Author's Note: **Don't worry, it's not over. It sounded like a good place to end things, but I wasn't quite satisfied yet. Anyhoo, let me know what you thought. Your feed back is always appreciated. Also, if you have any suggestionas as to where you want things to go from here, I'm always open to suggestions.


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: Short, but sweet and to the point. This is my final chapter. Thanks for coming along with me on this journey and I really hope you all enjoyed it. I have another story in the works. I'll have the first chapter up soon (I hope).

**Disclaimer**: Bones, for the final time this story, does not belong to me. My story does. So don't take it.

We stayed that way for a long time, Booth and I, neither having the energy nor the motivation to get up off the floor.

"This probably isn't good for your back," I told him.

"My back's the least of my bodily concerns," he chided. "That wouldn't happen to have been an apology now would it?" He shifted so he was lying on his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

It hadn't been, but I did feel some remorse for hurting him, even when he knew full well the repercussions of using physical force against me.

"You kind of deserved it, Booth, but I apologize for injuring you."

"I think we both needed some sense knocked into us."

"You know it's not actually possible to—"

"Think you could be quiet for a second?" he interrupted and I stopped abruptly.

"Now that the threat of danger is lifted, I think it would only be fair if I were given the chance to say what I was trying to say before. I love you. I know that, you know that, everybody knows it. They'd have to be an idiot not to know it."

I stopped him momentarily. "Are you saying I've been an idiot?"

Booth sighed. "Priorities, Temperance. I just told you that I love you. We seem to keep getting stuck at this point. And you're not an idiot. You're the most brilliant woman I'll ever have the pleasure of knowing."

He put his hand on mine and this time I didn't strike him. "And Hannah?"

"She knows. She knew from day one. I told her when I met her that I was trying to move on, that I was ready to forget. It only worked for so long. I came back here and, seeing you again, I knew it was a moot point. I tried to fight it and, whether you admit it or not, I think you have too. But I'm giving you the chance to stop fighting, to stop running, to kiss me here in the comfort of your own apartment instead of behind a pool hall, in front of the Hoover, or to satisfy our lawyer's puckish desires."

He waited, probably anticipating my rejection, but, the more I thought about it, the more I asked myself why I had to think at all. An aesthetically pleasing male of whom I found myself fond wanted to kiss me; the same aesthetically pleasing man who'd spent the past week trying to tell me what love is, who taught me about friendship and give-and-take. Maybe I didn't really listen all of those other times. Perhaps he hadn't been as blunt as he needed to be; as blunt as he had been now, but I felt like the metaphorical puzzle pieces were finally fitting together as they should. So I did it. I did was he hadn't expected me to do. I rolled over so we were face-to-face and I kissed him. And it wasn't a drunken pool hall kiss or a puckish mistletoe kiss. It wasn't desperate or sad or pleading. It was just…right. _There's one for your cosmic balance sheet, Booth_ I thought. It was like our own mystery was solved, the crime of my fight-or-flight response and his attempting to move on were confronted. All cards were on the table and finally I was ready to gamble.

After his shock wore off, he rolled over so I was on my back again, his knees on either side of my hips and his forearms resting on either side of my head. He looked down at me, smiling. The affection in his eyes, like the glow, was contagious. He leaned down to initiate another kiss, but paused inches from my lips.

"I'm not going to take it back, you know. Need me or not, I would kill for you. I would put my life in danger if it meant keeping you safe and all to myself. This is you we're talking about here. World renowned author and anthropologist, Temperance Brennan. My Bones." He smiled again, sealing the kiss.

Voice over (as heard at the end of the movie)

Booth: The first time we met, we hated each other.

Bones: No, you didn't hate me, I hated you. The second time we met, I still hated you.

Booth: Then we became friends.

Bones: We were friends for a long time.

Booth: And then we weren't.

Bones: And then we fell in love

As Documentary Couple (also seen at end of movie)

Bones: A year and a half later we were married

Booth: Yeah, it only took a year and a half.

Bones: Seven and a half years…


End file.
